We have all had a guess as to the number of birds we expect to be shot and amount of shots fired to reach our tally. The winner is announced after dinner at the pub tonight. As a general rule, a good ratio is 3:1 for shots to birds, remember this when we do the final tally.
All systems go! guns are off and we are armed with sticks and flags. Yes my friends, today I am a beater!! Rummaging in amongst the trees of the local woods and tapping and whooshing to get the pheasants and partridges airborne.
Now some might think its all about just getting some birds on the end of a gun. Oh no, its harder than that. We strategically take our corners of the wood and push the birds out where we want them. The guns think they have the upper hand you see. 'Over here, up a bit, by peg 3'. Get over yourselves, their coming out and its your job to pick them out.
As a chef you can take produce for granted. Not here we don't. It is because we care that we get out and about and see where our food comes from. By getting out in the woods and catching the early January breeze you feel alive. The birds are taking advantage of the warm ground cover and hiding in the roots of old trees. As we wandered through the hazel wood, we find them huddled under a pile of hazel twigs. A tap from the stick and they soon take flight.
A beaters friend is his dog. There to act on commands and seek the hidden birds. Dotty is one such dog that does, occasionally, as she is told. Winding her way through and collecting a flurry of feathers.
Two woods down and with a poor head count we head off for the best part of the day so far. Gathered at another farm we crack open the port and whiskey macs and sample the sausage rolls. The diet was not in full swing but was pencilled in for a few days after.
The chatter turns to the ones that got away and the flight they took. With it being a village shoot and the village farmers making up the guns, the birds have no escape. The plan is that we will follow the birds. They are far to cold and desperate to settle in this cold weather. Another drink? don't mind if I do. Sausage roll? why not. Its only 11'o clock and I am feeling like I don't have a care in the world. Business? no mate I am retired...for the day.
Right, enough. Lets crack on and get us some birds. The woods are no hiding place and we all pile into the back of the trailer and head over to our drop off point. Now this is where the planners dream really does come true. The guns are all in place, and I have an important job. The rookie is in demand!!! Into the lower field where the last two guns will be I must Shoo the birds up into the path of the other beater. His job, move them over the maize. Now we have a plan. The rest of the workers are coming down the field slowly working in a line and getting the birds into a nice forward movement through the maize. The dogs scramble through the tall maize and work the birds. I am placed in the clearing in the middle of the maize with a rope with old bits of feed bags tied to it. I am to swirl it like a skipping rope and as the birds come towards me, shoo them up. Its like taking candy from a baby. They take a low flight towards me, with a swirl they gain height. The odd holler and shout helps them rise even more. The crack of the gun and a slow flap tells you we have supper being delivered to our feet. Gun number 6 has his trusted dog at heel, and on command the pheasant is recovered. Superb. The act of flight, gun, owner and dog in a matter of 30 seconds working like a well oiled machine. It is poetry in motion. Now i know the vegetarians will have a lot to say, but this is country living. These guys work this land, they breed these birds and they have a days shoot out of it. Its serious stuff for everyone. The head count tally is well up after that little drive so we all head to the next drop off point. Beaters proud of what they have achieved.
Lunchtime. A chance to sit and rest. The guns seem keen to give yet more instruction as to where the birds need to be. A cup of tea, a sandwich and back outside to the cold. This time we are over the other side of the village. A team is assigned to one side of the wood and I am sent on the outside. Off we go. Oops, that was a rabbit hole. Well dodged and I didn't fall over. It may have had something to do with the rabbit coming out that helped my footing. Blast, they are cutting back on me. You can tell the birds are well fed as the height is so poor. I stand in the middle of the field waving a flag. I am surprised I don't end up with half a pound of shot up my bum. Again, the silly birds head towards what they think is cover, but that wood is next.Ha Ha.
The snow has started and we find ourselves in a true winter wonderland. Those birds that thought the woods were a hiding place are sadly mistaken. The beaters arc their way through this wood forcing the birds out as they go. The guns are ready and take down a good number on this drive. The skies darken and we beaters are grateful for the shelter that the woods offer.
The next wood is a bit tricky. It takes a while for the guns to get in place. This is where I meet a pheasant by my foot. Hiding in the tree roots is a hen bird who thought we would miss her. No such luck. I didn't see if she got away as I was trying to stay on my feet. No fresh carpet in here. You take your own life as you walk across the boggy ground and dodge the brambles and hanging branches.
We meet at the bridge and plot our last wood. This is the wood I went to in the summer when the chicks had arrived. They were due a feed and I wanted to pay them a visit as this would then mean I had fed them, hounded them and cooked them. Very cave Man I know, but food miles is now zero so that's what counts. As we lie in wait I here something coming towards me. Its a young deer who is oblivious to the whole day and just wants to get home. One last drag through the woods reveals a good bag of birds and a glorious sunset as we come out. The views today have been superb. Views you take for granted as you wait for customers to come into the pub. Views that not everyone gets to see as they are not allowed to walk across the fields under normal circumstances.
It is time to head back now and count the days take. As they are unloaded, everyone is trying to do a head count to see if they are close with their guess. Jane had selected 69 and I had gone mid 70's.
The birds were distributed amongst the guns and beaters. I declined as I was aware that the surplus would be coming to the pub anyway.
Jane and I headed home to the pub and a nice pint of Adnams. Off for a bath and get ready for dinner. Big mistake!! I sat on the bed and let the fresh air of the day take over me and fell asleep. I ended up being the last down for dinner. He who lives nearer is always last. Dinner was roasted pork belly, mash, leek and mustard sauce. Follow that with a chocolate brownie and a couple of pints of Adnams and I would call that a day to remember.
The winners of the birds shot was read out along with the shots fired. After the long and excessive Christmas break the guns did admit they couldn't quiet do it. Head count was recorded at 71. That means Jane and I lost. Rookies you see. What do we know. The ratio of shots to birds was revealead at 4:1. Must try harder gentlemen.
I would thoroughly recommend this to anyone. The birds have been in our shed waiting and have become dinner dishes. As I write people are munching away on Pheasant casserole. Dan has prepared pheasant roulades for customers to take away and cook at home and pass off as their own. We have 2 more shoot days before the end of the season, so its someone elses turn next. Until next season, my beating days are over.
